


Irregularities

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [58]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-21
Updated: 2009-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet makes a discovery about Sam and Lennox discovers a few things about the alien runes on his body. For Sam the news are hard to cope with, for Will things are getting a little clearer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irregularities

With regular access to the Ark came the equally regular access to the ship’s main computer. All the knowledge and data stored in the vessel was slowly but safely transferred to the Autobot base in Nevada, simply called ‘Nevada’ now, as Yuma and Arctic had lost their ‘base’ addition.

One of the few humans allowed unlimited and unsupervised access to the data was Will Lennox. He had waited years for this possibility and he used it – to see what the data base contained on the symbols on his skin. The symbols who were too old for any of the mechs to understand or to read. The Ark contained part of what the ancient explorers of the Allspark had collected on its meaning, and there was a very large section on ancient Cybertronian.

It was already late and while mechs like Ratchet and Ironhide were working on their respective projects, the humans had mostly settled down for the night. Night shift had just come on and was doing their rounds. Will liked the quiet; it gave him enough time to just watch the files as they scrolled past him on the screen.

One caught his eye.

He frowned.

Then he copied it to the special laptop Ratchet had configured for human use. It stored immense amounts of data and while it had a wifi uplink, it was none a hacker from this planet could easily crack.

More data files were copied and at around four in the morning Lennox settled down in a corner of an unused area and called up what Ironhide had scanned off his body so many years ago. One had been a list of all the Sector Seven experiments, then there had been something like old Cybertronian texts about the birth of their race – walking history book anyone? – and then there had been the really, really old glyphs. Not cosmic code, just something akin to rune language. It was the language of the first Cybertronians. No one spoke it anymore, but like human scientists had studied ancient human languages, the Cybertronian scientists had found a way to translate the rudimentaries of their ancestors’ rather complicated tongue.

Will let the laptop’s search-and-comparison program run its course while he tried to understand the texts he now had finally access to.

“Huh,” he murmured.

It was interesting. He had never delved that deeply into the actual creation story of the alien race. His main concern had been to learn their language and understand himself. Finding out that one of them didn’t mind sharing his spark with a human being did that to a man. Today Will saw nothing alien or strange in his partnership with Ironhide; a few years back he had freaked over the easy acceptance of the mech that they were essentially having what humans would call ‘sex’ and what Cybertronians titled as ‘sharing’, which was not sex. Today Will understood. Back then he had nearly lost his mind over the differences.

“Hey, sorry,” a voice startled him out of his reading.

Lennox looked up and found Sam Witwicky smiling sheepishly at him. The other man looked sleep rumpled and was clutching a cup of coffee and a notepad computer to his chest. A quick glance at his watch told Will it was eight in the morning.

“Looks like quiet corners are in demand today,” the technopath remarked.

Will chuckled. “Yeah, kinda. I’m willing to share.”

“No, it’s cool. I can…” Sam looked suddenly interested, his mind apparently picking up on something. “Ark data base?” he hazarded a guess.

“Yep. It’s interesting. They never really told us much about their origin. It sounds really mysterious and the first Cybertronians weren’t really record keepers. Ever read it?”

Sam shrugged. “Not much. Not for lack of interest. It was more a lack of time.” He sat down and placed his own notepad onto a couch table.

Lennox nodded. As their resident engineer and technopath, Sam had been very busy lately. First the healing of the Constructicons, then all that was connected to the reconstruction of the Ark, and finally the discovery of Prowl’s almost dead protoform in Iceland. The enforced vacation had helped Sam settle a little, but now he was back in business.

The younger man sat down on the banged up old couch that made up the arrangement of comfortable but old furniture that had been collected in this room. No one knew what exactly to do with the space, so it was a general quiet zone for those who needed it, mostly Lennox and Sam.

“According to the texts Cybertron is really, really, really old, but no one knows how old. The mechs launched exploration parties into the core of their world, but they never came far. Some even lost their lives. The Allspark was discovered early on and studied ever since. No luck in translating the cosmic code.”

“Which is frightening considering their abilities,” Sam remarked.

Will nodded. Prime and the others had easily downloaded and learned all the languages of Earth, could adapt to changes with ease, but the Allspark was a mystery.

“There are several hints at the beginning of Cybertronian life. Looks like the Allspark created the first thirteen mechs that were called ‘Primes’ and from them a lot of the future generation came.”

“But Cybertron was already formed by then.”

“Yep. Freaky, huh? Someone built that planet and left the Allspark there. Millions of years ago.”

Sam shrugged. “I can’t wrap my head around dinosaurs on this planet either.”

Lennox chuckled. “Same here. Anyway, those thirteen seemed to rule Cybertron for quite a while, then disappeared. Nothing was heard of them. Later on there were only two rulers, a Prime and a Lord Protector.”

“Optimus and Megatron,” Sam said softly. “The last two.”

“Yep. The writing Ironhide scanned off my body has names in it. The program is still translating and looking for references. Seems like even a tiny piece of Allspark contains everything.” Lennox looked a bit disturbed at that.

Sam met the dark eyes, something unspoken passing between them. If Will’s body truly did contain more than what had already been shown to everyone, the future would be very, very interesting. And it explained why Soundwave was after the hybrid even if Lennox had none of the active Allspark powers.

“I don’t recall any of this,” the former Ranger said softly. “Nothing at all. If it is inside me, it’s not really for me to access.”

Sam chewed his lower lip. “Maybe one day?”

“Honestly, I don’t want it. It’s enough to look like this. The new guys immediately think I’m their lost Allspark and I’m not.”

“So you’re more of a library,” Sam joked.

“Yeah. Probably. With some abilities.”

The laptop pinged and Will read over the latest findings, frowning.

“What?” Sam wanted to know.

“Some of the writing on my back is translated as ‘matrix’. Matrix for what, no clue. It’s not a blueprint for protoforms or Allspark stuff. It’s just… there. They could never really confirm the attempt of translation and interpretation from the first Cybertronians. It was passed down from generation to generation and some parts are lost.” Will frowned. “Nothing new there. They were abysmal record keepers in the beginning.”

“No idea what it might do?”

“No clue.”

“But you have it on you. It just recently formed and it’s permanent.”

Will looked a bit more disturbed at that than before. “Yeah,” was the quiet reply. “But I can’t control what might be inside me. It comes in waves and nothing has hinted at healing or life-giving so far. My energy doesn’t read as Allspark energy at all. My body changed, every cell is different, I’m no longer human, I can amass and release energy, but it’s not like I am the cube.”

“I know you don’t want to think about this, but if the Allspark dissolved inside you to hide in every cell… one day something might happen that’s… well...”

Lennox met the serious brown eyes, then looked away. “No,” he said quietly.

“Will…”

“No! The Allspark dissolved and I’m not harboring it inside me.” Eyes started to flare blue. “You’ve got part of it inside you, too, Sam! As does Jazz! Think of Stark’s changes! He had Allspark code on that strange cocoon and now the glyphs appear on his undergarment. He has markings like a protoform!”

Sam was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah. When it comes down to it, it’s possible. I was hit by backwash, you by the physical remainder of it. We both bear the scars. Tony played around with Cybertronian P-cells and mixed them with the Extremis program.”

The two hybrid humans looked at each other, fear reflecting in both their faces. Will finally gazed at one hand, let energy flow over it. The runes rose on the back of his fingers, elegant, alien lines that spoke of what he was.

“One heck of a scar,” Lennox whispered, then slammed the laptop shut. “I need some space.”

He left and Sam watched him go, unease spreading in his stomach.

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It was nothing out of the ordinary for Sam to get a check-up from Ratchet. At least the medic had a higher success rate than with Will. Lennox just didn’t scan well. He reflected scans and sometimes painfully so. Sam was still human, to a degree, and his body didn’t reflect anything.

Over the last ten or so years Ratchet had kept track of his physical development. Especially after he had developed the technopathy. Regular examinations were set up and a complete body check was the result of hours of letting Ratchet’s machines do their trick. Sam had to consciously refrain from logging on to them to keep the boredom away, since Ratchet also asked him, politely, not to reach out for Bumblebee unless he was about to scan this particular occasion.

Sam had early on discovered that following Ratchet’s orders got him out of med bay faster.

This time, though, something was different. Ratchet felt ‘disturbed’ and he was running checks and comparing notes from prior exams.

“Ratchet?” Sam asked softly.

 

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The mech turned, optics on his patient.

“I know something’s up. You’re radiating it all over the place.”

Disapproval flickered over the Autobot’s features. Sam grimaced.

“I’m not scanning, but your emissions are rather… strong. So, what’s up?”

“I’m not certain yet, Sam. I need to check a few more points.”

Sam sat back, frowning. He felt Bumblebee’s concern touch him as his partner had picked up on his confused state of mind.

::He won’t tell me, Bee. Let’s wait::

It was ten minutes later that Ratchet gave a rattle of disbelief, shaking his head.

“So?” Sam prodded.

“Your body no longer follows your kind’s natural way of maturing.”

“Huh?”

“You’re twenty-nine, correct?”

“Yeah. Thirty soon.” He shrugged.

“You’re not.”

“I am, Ratchet. My Mom’s quite certain about when I was born,” he quipped.

“And I belief your mother, but your body is not twenty-nine or thirty.”

Sam knew he still looked like he had barely made it past twenty-one and it bothered him quite often. Especially when the occasion called for him to meet up or work with someone who had no idea who he was. He was treated like a kid and he usually had to prove himself, which was quickly done, but it bothered him. The boyish good looks got old fast.

“Humans show age differently. Dad said he looked like a high school kid until he was in his early thirties, too.”

“No, Sam, you don’t understand.” Ratchet’s intensity caught him slightly off guard. ”This isn’t about looks. It’s about your body’s inability to mature any longer.”

“Inability?! You mean I stopped what? Aging?”

“Essentially yes. Apparently the radiation of the Allspark influenced your genetic code more severely than I thought.”

“How much more severe can it be? I’m not human any longer, genetically speaking!”

“And you didn’t age in the past years.”

“Since when?!”

“I didn’t track the irregularities right away,” Ratchet explained. “Your physiognomy is so different from ours and I had to learn, but looking at the collected data… about two years after the Allspark changed you.”

Sam gaped at him. “I’m stuck at what? Nineteen? Twenty?!”

“It seems like it.”

“No!”

The door to med bay opened and Bumblebee walked inside, radiating distress at his partner’s upset emotions.

“This is wrong, Ratchet! Completely and utterly wrong!”

“I checked everything again and again, Sam. Your cells keep renewing themselves, but they show no sign of aging.”

Sam felt something inside of him tremble. It wasn’t so much the fact that this had the ring of ‘immortality’ to it. Bumblebee was incredibly old compared to a human life and Sam wanted to be with him as long as he could. They were bonded. But he had never thought… never…

::Sam?::

He jumped off the table and paced. “Humans don’t stop aging!”

“Humans are usually not hit by Allspark energy,” Ratchet noted wryly.

“Is Will the same?”

“Will is different from you. His changes are completely different. But yes, he will experience a lot more life time, too. Mainly because of his hybrid status. He is both human and protoform.”

“And me? I’ll go through eternity looking like I’m barely out of high school?!” Sam demanded.

Ratchet looked a bit helpless.

“That’s not fair!”

::Sam…:: Bumblebee tried.

He shot his partner a furious look. ::You don’t have that problem! You can simply use a new mode! I’m stuck! At nineteen!::

With that he turned and left, aware he was also behaving like barely past his teens. Sam didn’t care. Not at all.

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For someone so intelligent, it was a dumb move.

Then again, no matter his intelligence or genius level, everyone was that dumb sometimes.

First Lieutenant Trent DeMarco, head logistician of the Autobot base in Nevada, walked into the dimly lit bar and it wasn’t really hard to find who he had come looking for. Seated in a corner booth, actually one of the only two booths in the establishment, with a bottle of something other than water and a glass of beer, was Dr. Sam Witwicky.

The barkeeper nodded at DeMarco. He had only two other patrons, and they were busy with their own beer and commenting on a game of football in front of the TV.

“He’s on his fourth beer and the bottle was full,” Hank, the barkeeper, told Trent.

Hank Soto was a former Army Captain who had retired and taken over this little watering hole just off base. It was well-frequented and despite the tiny size, it had the capacity to serve almost everyone who came in here on a busy Friday or Saturday night.

Today was Tuesday and it was a slow afternoon.

Not so for Sam.

Trent walked over to his friend and pulled out the chair without waiting for an invitation  
Soto had called his place The Watering Hole, too. It was a place Trent had come to before, with or without Sam, but they had never left piss-pour drunk. Usually it was for a beer. Sam was way past that one beer and well into a state of piss-pour drunk, if not already in it.

“Hey,” Trent said calmly.

It had been an odd moment when Jazz had sought him out and asked DeMarco to find Sam. The lieutenant had been a bit confused since the best possible candidate for that was usually Bumblebee, closely followed by Barricade.

“Bumblebee is… incapacitated,” Jazz had tried to evade a direct answer.

“Incapacitated how?”

After some hesitation he had been told the whole story.

To say he was shocked would have been a mild term, but then again, everything so far had always had a degree of shock labeled to it. His whole life at the base was filled with shocks and surprises. That Sam had been the first contact of an alien life form. Okay. Accepted. That he held a double doctorate. No sweat. That he had bonded to one of those mechanical life forms. Well, it had taken a while, but okay. Technopathy? Child’s play after everything else.

And now Sam could be expected to live a very, very long time.

That had been really hard to digest.

Trent couldn’t say he envied him that prospect. Humans weren’t supposed to be immortal. Humans were the only species on the planet that knew that they had to die, who had a measure of preparation. Of course, you never knew when, but you knew it happened. It was part of human life. Now Sam would go way beyond the normal life span.

No, no envy. Not pity either. Just… compassion, maybe.

Sam had gone off somewhere and shielded himself, telling Bumblebee that he wanted to be left alone without saying a word. His partner had respected that – until he had started to act strangely.

“Ratchet thinks that Sam has dropped all his shields by now and… he is probably intoxicated,” Jazz had explained.

“He’s drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“And Bumblebee is, too?”

“Sorta.”

Trent hadn’t known whether to laugh or shake his head. Who knew mechs could get drunk through bonds?

Well, he had volunteered to go Sam hunting. It wasn’t hard because there were only a few places their missing technopath felt safe enough to let go. One was the base, where he wasn’t. The other was The Watering Hole, where he had found him.

“Been looking for you,” Trent told the clearly drunk man.

“Found me.” Sam emptied the shot glass in front of him in one gulp and refilled it immediately.

Trent winced.

Hank came over and placed a pitcher of ice water onto the table, adding two glasses. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. Trent nodded, silently reassuring the former soldier that he would take care of his friend. Hank wordlessly disappeared again.

“Sam?”

Bleary eyes looked at him.

“You dropped your shields, buddy.”

“Huh?”

“Bumblebee’s not feeling well. You’re losing control of your shields.”

“’m fine.”

“Sure.”

Sam drank more of the clear liquor.

“And that’s not really helping, Sam.”

“Fuck off, Trent.”

“No go. We either go together or I’ll sit here till you drop. Looking at you, that’s not far from happening.”

Sam glared at him. “So they sent you?”

“They asked me to. Everyone’s worried.”

“About their prized little technopath,” Sam growled.

“About a friend.”

It got him a snort and Sam drank the last of his beer before also emptying the shot glass. He reached for the bottle of liquor, but Trent was faster.

“No.”

“I said, fuck off! ‘Tis my day off!”

“No reason.”

“What do you know?” Sam hissed, slumping back. “You got the perfect life! Me? No life! Too much life! Fuck you!”

Trent regarded him steadily. “Jazz told me. You really think alcohol helps dealing with it?”

Sam gave a broken laugh. “At least it’s easier.”

“Until the hangover,” Trent remarked wryly. “Believe me, no fun. Been there.”

“You’ve ne’er been where I am, Trent. Never! You had it all. Hated your guts. Hated it. Wanted t’be like… ev’ryone.”

Trent felt sympathy rise. “That was a long time ago, Sam. You have a lot more now. You are someone important. And the age thing? It’s not the end of the world.”

“Why does this have t’happen t’me?” Sam managed, sounding suddenly broken. “Why me?” He weakly thumped his fist onto the table.

“Arguing with a drunk guy isn’t really all that productive,” Trent sighed, “but hey… It’s not only happening to you, Sam. And it’s not that bad, right? There’s worse stuff. Like terminal illnesses, disfigurement, permanent loss…”

“I will lose! Permanently! Everyone! Lookin’ lika kid! High school geek!” he spat. “I’m a freak! Freakin’ freak!”

Trent was slightly unsettled by the fact that the last spike of anger was accompanied by the lights flickering a little. Fuck. Technopathy on the frizz. He had to get Sam out of here.

“How about we go home, you sleep off that stuff, and then we talk?” he offered.

“Don’t wanna.”

Trent glanced at Hank, who was watching them closely, ready to offer any kind of assistance that was needed.

“It’s water from now on. No more hard stuff.”

Sam grimaced, eyes on his empty beer. “Payin’ customer,” he slurred. “I’m good for more.”

“Hank decides who to serve. You’re all served out. Sam? Let’s go,” DeMarco cajoled.

It took him ten more minutes, but he finally had his friend accommodating enough to get him out of the bar and into the cooler air. Dusk was falling already. Well, it could be the clouds that hid the sun and threatened rain. It probably would rain like hell soon anyway. It was this time of the year. Even deserts were known for floods.

“How did you get here?” he asked, the first time thinking about how to get Sam home.

“Cab.”

Trent groaned. Damn!

Sam suddenly felt like twice his weight and he wasn’t really keeping on his feet all too well. He hung onto Trent like a drowning man.

“Spinnin’,” he murmured.

“Great.”

There was a sound he knew only too well and suddenly Arcee was there, carefully helping him get Sam out of the direct sight of the parking lot and into the shadows. With her, for a Cybertronian, small size Arcee was perfect for assisting a human. The problem was, her transformation didn’t help in getting Sam home.

“Who’s closest?” Trent asked his friend.

Arcee nodded toward the shadows. “He’s already here,” she said quietly.

Trent flinched when something appeared out of the shadows, sleek, black and white, engine a soft growl in the silence around them.

Barricade.

The driver side door of the Saleen clicked open.

“Barricade will get Sam home,” Arcee told him, resting one three-fingered hand briefly against his back as if to reassure him.

Trent didn’t ask why Barricade was here. He knew that the former Decepticon saw himself as a kind of guardian to Sam. No one had given him the job, no one had asked him to. He had simply acquired the role throughout the past decade or so. He had trained Sam, he had protected him, he was his silent shadow.

DeMarco nodded, still not willing to take one step closer to the Mustang than was necessary. Sam had told him what Barricade’s problem with him was and could you say ‘grudge’? A very long-term one, too. While the mech apparently didn’t want to dismember him, Trent was careful around him. He really wanted to live a little bit longer.

Sam suddenly started to struggle. “No. Not goin’,” he muttered and moved away from Barricade. He nearly upset Trent’s balance.

The blond sighed and got a stronger hold on his inebriated friend. Sam was very close to just keeling over and falling flat on his face. He looked over at Arcee, whose blue optics glowed softly in the approaching dark.

“Yes, you are,” he told Sam and got a firmer grip around the lean waist. “C’mon.”

And with that he pulled him over to the silently waiting police car. Barricade was very quiet, as if he wasn’t a sentient being in shape of a Saleen Mustang, and when Trent saw the holographic driver he nearly jumped.

“Jeez!” he hissed.

The man behind the wheel smiled nastily at him. Clean-shaven, short-cropped dark hair, black police uniform, leather jacket. Aside from the very cold eyes and the slightly inhuman glow in their depths, the holoform looked perfect.

Trent nearly flinched again as very solid hands grabbed Sam and helped put him onto the passenger seat – where he promptly lost consciousness. The seat was lowered into a horizontal position automatically and Sam lay comfortably inside his ride home.

Barricade shut the door, nearly catching Trent as the lieutenant moved out of the way, then the Saleen drove away. His lights came on as he took the road toward the highway.

“He has a hardlight form?” Trent finally blurted when he and Arcee were alone.

“Apparently.”

The human glared at his mechanoid friend. “Et tu?”

Arcee chuckled. “It’s a very energon intense form of interaction, Trent. I only use holoshapes when I’ve to be undercover, but never hardlight. Ratchet has fine-tuned the hardlight version for Ironhide, but I suspect Barricade hacked the file and incorporated the technology. Decepticons.” She shrugged.

DeMarco shivered a little. Great.

Arcee transformed and he grabbed his helmet, donning it.

“Back to base?” Arcee asked.

“Yeah. You want to trail them?”

“No. I trust Barricade with our technopath. He would never hurt him.”

That was big coming from an Autobot, but Trent knew it was the truth. Barricade would lay down his life to defend Sam, that much was a given, and he suspected Jazz wasn’t far from here either. Sam was in good hands. Time to get back and catch a few hours of sleep before his shift.

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::Tell me again why I’m doing this?:: Barricade grumbled as he took the highway toward the desert.

::Because you’re a good guy:: Jazz teased.

It got him a dangerous growl.

::You’re the back-up guardian:: the Autobot went on, amusement in his voice. ::It’s what you do::

::Only because his guardian is unable to shield himself!::

Which was a bit true and a lot more unfair. Sam had apparently not only dropped his shields, but used his direct line to Bumblebee to overwhelm the Autobot. Bumblebee hadn’t seen it coming and had gotten lost in Sam’s alcohol-muddled mind.

::You wouldn’t leave him there:: Jazz reminded him calmly.

::Watch me::

But he hadn’t. He had even used up energon on the hardlight form to get Sam into the car without much fuss. He hadn’t wanted the troubleshooter or DeMarco closer to him than necessary.

Sensors on his sleeping passenger, Barricade noted every little change. He wasn’t pleased with the amount of alcohol the technopath had taken in. Right now he was glad the human was unconscious, just in case his confused brain started to lash out at something electronic – him.

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Arriving at the base a few hours later, a deeply unconscious – asleep, passed out, whatever – Sam on his passenger seat, Barricade rolled into the house Witwicky had on base. It had been built to accommodate mechs the size of Bumblebee, so it wasn’t a problem to get inside for him either. But he stayed in car mode and employed the hardlight form again. He had modified the hologram from the image Witwicky had first seen, distancing himself from that time by choosing something completely new, and while the police uniform had stayed, the face was a different one. Dark-haired, clean-shaven, and blue-eyed. Jazz had teased him about the eyes for quite a while.

His partner transformed and watched as Barricade hauled Sam out of his alternate mode and toward the couch. Sam muttered something, moving jerkily. Barricade scanned him and found his toxicity still too high for a healthy human, but his body had to work this out on its own. Humans were more resilient than they looked.

::Where’s Bumblebee?:: he asked.

::With Ratchet. He put him into forced recharge. Until Sam’s in control again he has to stay there::

Barricade nodded and let the holoform dissolve.

“You wanna stay?” Jazz asked,

The Saleen simply parked himself across from the couch. Jazz shrugged.

“Fine with me. I’ll let Prime know.”

With that he transformed and joined his bonded, nosing closer until they were touching. Barricade didn’t protest, keeping his scanners on Sam while his spark acknowledged Jazz’s closeness.

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He woke to a tremendous headache. His tongue felt like cotton wool, and as if it had grown in size. Pain pulsed behind his eyes, soon joined by the sickness spreading from his stomach. Fragments of memories came back. Getting dead drunk in a bar. Sam groaned and rolled onto his side, his stomach heaving. He clenched his teeth, refusing to give in to the need to throw up. It was undignified.

Something moved and he tried to attach a name to the sound of footsteps.

A glass was forced into his hand and he drank it, eyes still closed.

Alca Seltzer.

He grimaced

A faint hum in the back of his mind fought through the alcoholic haze. And with it, the presence close to him grew familiar. Sam's eyes snapped open and he immediately shut them again. The light lancing through his eyes was extremely painful.

He groaned softly.

::Sam::

The word was even more painful than the light and he whimpered.

::Shield!:: the voice commanded and like on automatic Sam tried to gather his shields, but he found them in a rather bad state, all down, thin, useless.

Shit.

::Put up your shields!::

He blinked his eyes open once more and looked into an unfamiliar face. A cop.

“Huh?” he managed.

“Ladiesman 217. Samuel James Witwicky,” a rather familiar, very dangerous sounding growl startled him. “Get up your shields or Cybertron help me, I’ll do it for you!”

A primitive part of Sam’s brain yelped in fear, a very old and long ago dealt with fear. It was a brief spark, like a match flaring and immediately going out again. Sam almost fell off the couch and the jarring motion had him groan again. His head hurt, but not as bad as after an overload. Just… not good. And the taste in his mouth… and the sick feeling… and the memories leaking back…

Like in an afterthought he groped for a measure of control to get up his shields. He managed, like jerkily pulling on his clothes while completely out of it and in the dark.

“Barricade?” he stuttered as he looked at the cop looming over him like some bad-ass enforcer.

The smirk was answer enough. Barricade might not look like a Schwarzenegger clone – he looked actually more like a lithe, athletic and very lethal human version of what he was – but the danger radiating off him was making his hairs stand on end.

The shock he felt when the hologram grabbed and pulled him to his feet almost cleared his foggy mind completely.

“Hardlight?” he blurted, adrenaline shooting through him.

“Yes. Now get over there and clean yourself up,” Barricade snarled and pushed him toward the bathroom. “Your partner needs you.”

Bumblebee! Oh hell, no…

“I… oh… shit… Why are you…?”

“I need the Autobots off my case! With your guardian down for the count I’m the designated baby-sitter,” were the cold words. “And you keep anchoring.”

Embarrassment fought with nausea, and something between the two won. Sam swayed on his feet and took a step, nearly falling. Strong hands grabbed him and kept him upright.

“You didn’t have to…” he managed, tongue heavy.

“Oh really,” was the wry reply and Barricade maneuvered him over to the bathroom. “Because you are so very well able to handle yourself, human.”

“Sorry.”

::Get inside. Clean up::

Sam almost fell into the tiled room.

“And don’t think I won’t hose you down,” Barricade added darkly.

No thanks! He was trying to sink into a hole already.

Sam managed to pull his clothes off in a more or less coordinated way, his mind spinning from more than just alcohol.

He had been so stupid! Monumentally stupid!

The shower helped a little, but he still felt woozy and like his world was padded by a lot of wool. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his hips, then sat down on the toilet lid.

::Bee?:: he tried carefully.

There was no answer. The other side of the link was silent. Not painful, not dark and like a hole about to swallow him, just… quiet. Sam ran shaky fingers through his wet, spiky hair. He knew the quiet. Recharge quiet. Of course Ratchet would have to put Bee under in some form.

“Shitshitshit,” he whispered, fingers clenching hard enough to make his hair pull painfully.

It took him a long time to finally dress in clean clothes and make it back into the living room where, with a sigh, he discovered that Barricade hadn’t moved an inch and Jazz had somehow dropped by for a visit. The silver Autobot was in bipedal mode, his partner still in his alternate form.

“Hey, Sam,” Jazz sad cheerfully.

The human winced and held up a hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ow, Jazz, quieter, please?”

The mech grinned. “Headache?”

“Motherload.”

Barricade rumbled. “It’s your own fault, human.”

“A little sympathy wouldn’t hurt sometimes!” the technopath snapped in a brief bout of anger.

The Saleen transformed and Sam wanted to wince back, but he was too proud to do so.

“I’m not sympathetic to a useless overload on toxic materials,” Barricade replied, red optics flaring. “Nor am I sympathetic to your pitiful attempts of reasoning for it. You made a mistake that could have endangered two minds instead of one.”

“Sue me for being human!”

“You are no longer just human, Sam Witwicky. You are a technopath bonded to a mechanoid mind.”

Sam flinched at the sharp reminder. “I’d never hurt Bumblebee…”

“You have. Deal with it!”

Sam sent him a dark look and walked to the kitchen, glad to have a coffee machine from heaven. The core unit, the guys who had been there for Qatar and later Mission City, had thrown a lot of money together to give him a super automatic coffee machine as a house warming gift when he had moved here after college. It was truly a gift right now.

Inhaling the first cup he let the black liquid work its way through his system. With his eyes half closed he wove his shields back into stronger walls. He could almost feel Barricade’s approval.

::You don’t have to rub it in, okay?:: he sent. ::I know it was stupid. I won’t do it again! Now stop with the looks and the not-so-veiled, wordless threats!::

It got him a grin.

Bastard, Sam thought, making sure it leaked.

Barricade only laughed at him through the established connection. Of course he would, the technopath thought darkly. He enjoyed it. Okay, he was also right and Sam had needed to get his head on straight, but right now he was aching, guilt-ridden and hungry.

“Food?” Jazz offered, the first word he had said since Barricade had started dressing Sam down.

Yes, please! part of him cried.

And he apparently looked as starved and needy as he felt, because Jazz only grinned and made an inviting gesture to leave the house.

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Fifteen minutes later he sat in the common room of the military unit of Nevada base and wolfed down a huge breakfast.

It was where Trent found him, nodding a ‘good morning’ at Sam. With a mug of steaming hot coffee, DeMarco sat down opposite.

“Got it out of your system?”

Sam glared. “Yeah. Thanks for lugging me home.”

“Barricade did the lugging. I only stopped you from throwing up at Hank’s. Or going technopathically amok. He would have been far from amused at that.”

Sam sighed and scraped up the last of his food. “Probably. Still… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. And please don’t do it again, at least on my shift.”

He smiled at the blond lieutenant. “Promise.”

DeMarco nodded, raised his mug, then got up and went back to his cubicle of an office.

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“Ever thought of training new recruits, Cade?” Jazz asked as the two mechs left the technopath to eat.

“No,” was the cool reply.

“You’d make a great drill sergeant, as the humans call it.”

Red optics glared.

“No, really. You’re good. But seriously, thanks for the help with Sam. I doubt I could have gotten him home, let alone awake enough.”

“They usually get up all by themselves,” Barricade replied.

“Not this quickly. I’m glad you were there.”

Barricade shot his spark-bonded a look. He would always be there as long as Sam a) let him and b) needed him. And from the way the human was behaving, he would need help one way or the other for quite some time to come.

Jazz laughed as he caught the fringe of his thoughts through the open bond. “True,” he agreed, nudging Barricade gently. “I want to check in on Ratchet, see when he wants to bring Bumblebee out of recharge. You?”

Barricade’s scanners were still on Sam, aware of his every move. “I’ll be here,” he only said and transformed.

Jazz nodded, running the tips of his fingers over the black roof and the police lights. It was a feather-light caress with a teasing tap at the end, then he was gone. Barricade tried to ignore the pleasurable thrill it gave him. He couldn’t.

Annoyed, he rolled to where he wouldn’t be in the way, keeping watch over Sam.

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Sam had taken refuge on the roof of one of the formerly derelict buildings that compromised the surface part of the mostly underground base. It was a warm day, bordering on hot, but he didn’t care. A baseball cap pulled deep into his face shaded his eyes. The wind didn’t really cool anything down, just tugged at his t-shirt. His hangover had been cured by something wonderful called painkillers, lots of water and alca seltzer, some more sleep, and the fact that his body worked through alcohol intoxication better than expected. Ratchet had checked him, told him to take it easy, and then allowed him to see Bumblebee. The Autobot would be in recharge for a few more hours, then Ratchet would allow him to wake up.

::Sam?::

He smiled at the tentative contact. Bumblebee was awake. ::Yeah?::

::Would it be so bad?::

He sighed, hanging his head. Leave it to Bumblebee to wake up and ask the hardest questions first. Not about why he had drunk himself into a stupor. Not about how he was. Not about why he hadn’t come to talk. No, right to the heart of the matter.

Alien minds and all, Sam thought.

::It’s not about living all of your life span with you, Bee.::

There was a brief flicker of happiness that touched him deeply. Bumblebee was keeping shields up, as was Sam, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He just needed time. A little time to himself, to think. His shields were strong once more and he was glad for Barricade’s no-nonsense, rather harsh approach to the subject matter. He was still reeling from so many facts, from how it had been Trent who had hauled his ass out of the bar, how Barricade had gotten him home as his substitute guardian, how he had used a hardlight holoform of all things, and how he and Jazz had stayed.

Damn.

And he was telling the truth. He didn’t mind spending more than his natural life span with the one he had bonded to. A bond meant that they were perfect together, and it felt perfect. Bumblebee was… everything. As corny as it sounded, he was. He felt right. He touched Sam’s mind in a way none of the others ever could. Not just as an anchor, but as something that was spark to soul.

Living longer meant a lot more time with the mechs, who didn’t have to worry about age-related problems. Cybertronians were ancient. Humans were mere moments in their lives.

::Then what?:: was the soft question.

::I look like a kid::

Bumblebee didn’t understand and he voiced it. Sam smiled.

::I’m young. I’ll always be young. People look at me and don’t take me seriously because of it. I’m a geek and I’m a kid. A nearly thirty year old kid::

::It doesn’t matter to me or the others::

::It does to me. We humans have this weird malfunction in our heads. When we’re young, we want to look older, more mature. When we grow older, we want to stay young. We start doing stuff to our bodies to follow some kind of crazy youth ideal. All the way to surgeries.::

Bumblebee hummed. He had been on this planet long enough to understand.

::I always wanted to look more mature, too. More like a jock. I envied others because I was all gangly and nerdy. Now I’m gonna stay it::

Steps announced Bumblebee’s arrival. He hoisted himself up onto the reinforced roof structure, scanning his partner.

::The outside isn’t important. We never judged you by your appearance::

::That’s you. Humans do::

::I noticed. You have the respect of those at the base and those allied to us. Isn’t that enough?::

Sam closed his eyes. ::Kinda::

::But you still think it’s unfair?::

He nodded.

Bumblebee made soft whirring noises.

::And then there’s my parents. It’s no problem now. One day they’ll be all gray and wrinkly and I still look like I do now. Like their grandchild. Children survive their parents, but they usually do it looking their age!::

The mech reached out and when Sam didn’t argue, he caressed the bowed back.

::It’s unfair:: Bumblebee sent.

Sam only nodded.

“Look, Bee…” he said after a while. “I’m sorry about the whole drinking thing. I didn’t think it would reflect back on you.”

The blue optics regarded him calmly. “I didn’t think it was possible either. You projected and I was unable to bring up the shields. I think I need some training, too,” he added, sounding amused.

Sam laughed softly. “I doubt Barricade would be thrilled.”

“Probably,” he agreed wryly.

“It won’t happen again, Bee,” Sam promised. “It was stupid, childish… didn’t solve anything.”

The mech nodded. “Apology accepted.”

They stayed like this for a while, then Bumblebee retreated, physically as well as mentally. Sam didn’t mind. He watched his partner leave to give him whatever time he required.

Sam laid back onto the roof, looking into the sky. Ratchet had probably already reported his findings, especially after the whole thing with Sam getting himself drunk and Bumblebee suffering because of it. Optimus Prime knew, as did at least Jazz and Barricade. Trent knew, of course.

He sighed.

Sooner or later everyone would know. At least the Autobots and most of their allies would. Sam didn’t feel well telling something like this to everyone of the human side of the alliance. Epps and the core team, yes, but not someone from Washington or wherever from.

He didn’t plan to end up a guinea pig or some kind of sideshow freak.

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Barricade had remained in the hangar, optics on Sam as he had moved from the base to the outskirts, later joined by his bonded partner. He had shielded himself from any kind of connection through the technopath, but in the past decade he had gotten to know this particular human very well. He knew Sam was more relaxed now that he and Bumblebee had cleared the air, so to speak.

“Peeping tom,” someone sang.

Barricade glanced at his partner and met the softly glowing optics with a scowl. He had heard and felt Jazz approach. While the specialist could move like a shadow, there was no sneaking up on a soul-bond.

“He’s going to be okay,” Jazz stated, leaning slightly against his partner from behind.

“Yes.”

“So you think we can head out to Yuma? Get some work done?”

Barricade shot the Autobot a semi-amused look. “It’s your work, not mine, First Lieutenant.”

“Ah, but you’re my spark-bonded, Cade. My obligations are yours.”

“Since when?”

“Since about always?” There was laughter echoing in Jazz’s voice. “And it’s not like you wouldn’t want to tag along, right?”

“There is nothing that requires my presence.”

“Oh, but there is. Me. You can have my back.” He winked. “And my front.”

Barricade wondered how much time the other mech had spent on the internet again. Or how many movies or e-books he had downloaded.

Jazz simply turned and walked away, sure in the knowledge that Barricade would follow.

He did. At his own pace. For his own reasons. And they had nothing to do with who or what Jazz was in the Autobot ranks. He could be Prime, for all he cared. Right now some change of scenery sounded more interesting than staying at Nevada.

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Will had joined him without losing a word. He had simply sat down next to Sam, face neutral, not even looking at the younger man.

“It stinks,” he finally broke the silence.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly.

“I’m different on every level,” Lennox went on, as if talking to himself. “I’m a hybrid. The fucking shard changed me because it fused with my body. I look like an advertisement for Allspark stuff all the time. I can shape-change, I’ve got freaky abilities, and the only reason I still look human is probably because evolution takes time.”

Sam shot him a frown. “You think you’ll end up looking like a protoform?”

Will shrugged. “Who knows? Changing comes with the fear that I might one day be stuck in that mode.”

“Oh.”

Sam had never given this any thought. Looking at the past decade or so he understood, though. Lennox had undergone massive changes, inside and out, and there was a good chance it wasn’t done yet.

“At least you’d have a chance to… well.. always be there, even off this planet, without becoming dependent. Some small organic in a space suit.” Sam laughed hollowly. “Not that I want to leave my home. Just thinking. Who knows how long I’ll have now? What if it is eternity? Immortality? I can’t think of leaving Bumblebee, can’t imagine what it would be like for him to watch me age and die… but I’m not like you, Will. I can’t turn into something that’s more like a Cybertronian.”

Will gave him an even look. “Does Bumblebee want you to change?”

“No.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“But I’m vulnerable, Will. I’m human. My technopathy doesn’t protect me from heat or cold or getting shot or something like that. I need air to breathe, food…”

Sam broke off, his mind crowded with so many aspects of what his not-aging would bring in the future.

“And I look like I’m not even twenty-one,” he grumbled.

Will laughed. An honest, open laugh. “I think that’s the main reason you’re sulking.”

Sam glared at him.

“Hey, I can’t go out in public because I look like this,” Lennox gestured at himself. “You can. You might get strange looks of a different kind, you might have the odd comment here or there, but you’re human on the outside, too.”

“I just can’t…” Sam hesitated. “I can’t think of living when everyone else dies. I mean, in fifty years…”

Lennox shook his head. “No. That’s not how you think, Sam. Who knows what happens? Who knows what else hits us? What if Soundwave comes back? What if someone else makes a run for either me, or you, or any of our friends? We can die.”

Sam evaded the knowing eyes.

“As a soldier I learned that,” Will went on. “I lost comrades and friends. A lot. Maybe I’ll see Epps grow old and terrorize everyone in a retirement home. Or he might get killed one day, fighting off Decepticons. Or he catches something deadly. We never know, Sam. Never.”

“Yeah.”

“Live every day. Don’t make too many plans.”

“Soldier’s life?”

“Kinda. My plans were shattered when the Autobots arrived. They were annihilated with the Allspark shard deciding to absorb into my body. The cards were dealt anew with what Ironhide and I now share. I couldn’t have imagined that happening. Ever!”

“Same here. No shard, different mech.” Sam smiled.

The other man chuckled. “Very different mech. Very different approach. I never thought this could happen.”

“Neither did I.”

“Freaked much?”

Sam shrugged. “No, not really. You?”

“Plenty. Interfacing with a mechanoid life form and liking it, getting off on it. Developing a relationship with Ironhide. All the changes to my body, my skin, my whole being. The energy weapon specifically. Got used to it all after a while, but I still have my moments of freaking.”

Sam smirked. “I guess.”

Will shot him a narrow-eyed look, but there was a twitch around his mouth.

“If you could, would you go back to who you were before?” Sam asked out of the blue.

“No,” was the immediate answer, no hesitation. “Seen too much. Know too much. It happened and I understand that now. You can’t change it.”

“And if you could, you wouldn’t.”

Lennox nodded. “Neither would you, Sam.”

Yeah, neither would he. Sam gazed at the sky, smiling to himself.

“So next time you want to go for a stiff one,” Will said casually, “give me or one of the guys a holler.”

“You can’t get drunk,” Sam stated, looking at him.

“Nope. Good thing, hm? The others… they can take a few drinks. And if you really want to party, tell Stark. He’s a pro.”

Sam laughed. “I bet! But truthfully, I don’t plan to ever again. Aside from the day after, the chance of me doing something really fatally dangerous with the technopathy… it’s too big. I could bring down a generator, a power plant, whatever…. not to mention how much harm I could inflict on any of the mechs… I didn’t know Bumblebee could be affected either.” Sam flushed. “He didn’t know what hit him and he couldn’t fight it. No, it won’t happen again.”

“Not to mention how badly Barricade would kick your ass if you did it again,” Lennox remarked.

“And that.”

Both men shared another grin, then Lennox got up and held out a hand to Sam. The technopath took it and was hauled to his feet.

“Let’s go back.”

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Will went back into his quarters, picking up the modified laptop on the way. Ironhide was still tinkering with security and Lennox was glad for it. He didn’t really need someone hovering over him right now that he would delve into the archives once more. So far he had only scratched the surface of the writing he had found on himself and even that little had been scary or too mysterious to understand.

Both Ratchet and Ironhide had kept meticulous records of the writing on the hybrid human and while Will had been slightly pissed at being handled like an object sometimes, he now was glad for it.

Even if one particular set of runes scared him.

They had first appeared when he had experimented in the beginning. His body showed the name of the mech touching him, which was cool, but it had never really given him time to worry. What Ratchet had noticed early on was a string of ancient Cybertronian in the mech’s name’s wake.  
A few weeks ago Will had first translated some of the writing. It was something like a heritage tree. Weird.

Optimus Prime’s name was followed by the writing ‘Dynasty of Primes’, which was okay since he was a Prime. The Cybertronian equivalent of the ancient language was tattooed on his head. The symbols made up the designation of the mech. He was a Prime. He was a leader. Lennox had referenced some of it, had discovered that Megatron’s facial tattoos had spelled ‘Lord Protector of Cybertron’, which had been nothing but a cynical reminder in the end.

What had Will freak were the three runes embedded in the permanent tattoo on his back. They looked like an aberration of the glyphs on Optimus’ head, like someone had started out writing Cybertronian and finished it with Ancient. The symbols resided between his shoulder blades, on his lower back and one on his left shoulder. They didn’t stand out to the casual observer, but Lennox had had time to go over his body with a fine-toothed comb.

“What the fuck is this?” he said softly, gazing at the screen.

And what really, really scared him was the fact that the time he had given Sam a clap on the shoulder, the same set had reappeared on his ring and pinky finger. The same variation, the same elegance, the same writing.

He hadn’t told Sam.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Lennox ran a shaky hand through his already tousled hair.

Right now he wished he had never accessed the archives. It was too late for that; he knew. He didn’t understand, but he knew.

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He had to be somewhere else but the base. So Sam and Bumblebee had driven into Tranquility, cruising through the streets of the town Sam had grown up in. He had gone for lunch at a burger joint he had hung out in after school so many years ago. He had enjoyed a sinfully big tub of ice cream and finally taken a stroll.

He felt Bumblebee’s presence, but no words were spoken. The mech let him proceed at his own pace and Sam was infinitely glad for it. Walking through Tranquility, just him and his thoughts, the streets quiet and deserted, Sam mused about what could have been. What if they had never met?

::But we did:: Bumblebee said, breaking the silence.

::Yeah. We did::

And nothing else mattered. They had met and his life had forever changed. No going back.

Strangely, even if there would be a chance to change anything, or everything, he didn’t know what that would be. He was happy. A strange kind of happy because no one could understand it completely; ever. Sam’s mind was not that of a normal human being’s. His whole life of the past twelve odd years had been weird and freaky and chaotic and out of this world.

But not bad.

Considering all the pain and loss and tears and the agony of what technopathy could be, it had never been bad. None of it. Every step had taught him, had advanced the evolution of what was Sam Witwicky.

Will had had a lot more problems, had had a more difficult time. Sam’s life had been a piece of cake compared to giving up everything he had ever loved or cared about. Lennox had already been forced to abandon humanity. Sam was still very much part of a human family and he had really good friends.

Sitting down on a bench in a still dark park area, Sam gazed into the cloudy night sky. Bumblebee had come to a stop at the edge of the park, watching, guarding, while Sam pondered life, the universe, and the things between.

::I wouldn’t care if you lived your normal life span, Sam:: the mech finally said softly, intruding ever so carefully. ::I wouldn’t care if this was our last night together::

::I do. The bond my mind created with your spark… it’s… it cripples you, Bee::

::No:: The word was firm.

::When I die…::

::No, Sam::

He chewed on his lower lip. ::This is hard. I keep getting the ‘what ifs’ in my mind::

::We all do. For different reasons::

Sam looked into the general direction he knew Bumblebee was. He smiled. He knew how much Bumblebee regretted, how much he had seen, right down to the destruction of his whole planet. Still, he had persevered. Throughout torture and loss and pain, without a voice for so long, and looking for the one thing that now no longer existed.

::We grow:: Bumblebee told him. ::Together::

Sam nodded, walking over to the parked Camaro. Bumblebee opened a door and he slid inside, feeling the leather seats shift to suit him perfectly.

He still had to really wrap his mind around the fact that, if no one shot or stabbed him, threw him off a building or something the like, he and Bumblebee would have an incredibly long life together. At least it was incredible for him. Humans weren’t supposed to be almost immortal.

Neither were Cybertronians. Bumblebee was young for his kind, about Sam’s actual age, and he was millennia old in human terms.

Sam knew he had to ignore the human calendar from now on, count his life in Cybertronian terms. He wasn’t alone. Will would be there. And probably Tony. Extremis was taking care of that.

He smiled a little.

::I’ll be there:: Bumblebee promised sincerely. ::Always::

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Always meant a very, very long time.

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Will had decided on a jog to work out his mind, too. He had left behind the base, long legs eating up the distance. His body didn’t tire that easily and he actually enjoyed it. He could run for hours, way past marathon distance, and still look no less tired than after a good jog.

He returned just before sunset and Ironhide was awaiting him. The mech regarded him curiously, but he didn’t ask. Will grabbed a soda from the fridge, then joined his partner outside once more, legs dangling from the container he sat on.

“I’m going to Yuma tomorrow,” Lennox informed the mech in between sips.

Ironhide didn’t say a word, just looked quietly at him.

“I want to test some more. There’s stuff…” He trailed off.

“Want company?” Ironhide rumbled.

Will smiled briefly. “You promise not to interfere?”

“I haven’t so far,” the mech reminded him.

“There’s always a first time, Hide.”

“You have my word.”

“Then yeah, I want company.”

Anything to take his mind off what was written on him, hidden from casual eyes and optics, but he, the bearer, knew.

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Ironhide could openly confess that seeing Will Lennox in ‘battle mode’ sent little thrills through him. Even when he still looked human, was human size, and only the energy that danced over his skin gave any indication to his hybrid status, the effect was there. Ironhide had kept close optics on him throughout the performance and while he had itched to interfere when Will had almost blown himself into a rock face, he had honored his promise.

He stayed put, he didn’t try to ‘help’ and he shut up about possible changes to the hybrid’s method of attack or defense.

Will had wanted to try and train reabsorbing energy he had already collected into a bubble, ready to be flung at something or someone, but it was difficult.

Ironhide kept his scanners peeled on the energy output and was amazed and slightly overwhelmed by how much the hybrid managed to hold together in such a small bubble in his hands. Reabsorbing this into his own system was understandably difficult.

It wasn’t easier in protoform shape.

Will sat up and cursed softly to himself. Ironhide smirked as he listened to the words, some clearly Cybertronian. His partner had shown basic language skills in the past, but mostly when it was just the two of them in a very intimate moment. Will could pronounced Ironhide’s name, could curse, and he had worked out a few basic words, mostly important in battle situations.

Dusting himself off, the hybrid looked over at Ironhide, daring him to comment. Ironhide wisely shut up.

Still, the thrill was there, especially now, after hours of watching the spectacle. Will had managed to absorb part of the energy bubbles the last time and it had resulted in a yelp, a flare of blue in his brown eyes, and all runes first rising to the surface of his skin, then disappearing almost completely.

“Getting there,” Lennox commented as he walked over, covered in dust. He ineffectively wiped at his grimy t-shirt and grimaced.

“Ready for a break?” Ironhide asked.

It got him a shrug and a sigh. “Yeah. I feel like my own personal punching ball.”

Ironhide chuckled and transformed, waiting for the human hybrid to get inside. Dust trickled onto his seats and he knew he would need extensive cleaning later.

They drove back to the base, which was currently deserted with all Constructicons on the Ark, and Will padded over to the single shower stall, already shedding clothes.

He came out with only a towel around his hips some time later, runes pale shadows on his chest. The tattoo on his back was still prominently there and Ironhide felt himself itch to touch it. The sheer energy surrounding Will made him… irresistible.

“Hide?”

He blinked. “Yes?” Slag, he had been staring again.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

Will frowned and looked up at him, unconcerned about his state of undress. “Try again.”

Ironhide gave a rattling sigh. He finally transformed, enabled the holoform and pulled the unresisting man to him. Splaying his fingers over the back tattoo, Ironhide hummed with approval of the pulses he felt. As always the reaction was intense and very pleasurable.

Lennox raised his brows. “Wow, sex object much?” he quipped.

“Shut up, Lennox,” Ironhide rumbled, but he had to smile.

“You got off watching me shoot something?” the hybrid clarified, laughter in his voice.

“Sue me,” was the dark answer.

Now Will did laugh. “All the time and I never knew this was so arousing for you.”

“We don’t arouse,” Ironhide snarled, enjoying the different echoes of each pattern he touched, feeling his spark ripple.

“No, you just… skid closer and closer to an overload, hm?”

“Exactly.”

“What is this? Canon envy? Do I have to be worried?” Will teased, grinning. “Prime’s got a pretty damn big gun…”

Ironhide pushed his partner against his own front, eyes flickering badly at the double impact sensation. The tattoo was now in direct contact with his armor and the holoform. The holoform was condensed energy and very well able to conduct sensations thanks to Ratchet’s experimental nature when it came to improving the hardlight emitter, so it conducted. It conducted really well, as proven in the past.

Lennox let his hands roam over the simulated humanoid form. “Not that I mind being the sex object right now,” he purred.

A few years ago neither of the two would have believed that they could be at this point somewhere in the near future. Ironhide’s past relationships that had led to sharing had been purely Cybertronian. Lennox had only ever been with human women. They had both taken gigantic leaps and developed something that was a mixture of both; alien to the other partner and still familiar.

Kissing was alien to Cybertronians, but interfacing was no different. Two sockets connecting. Pleasurable sparks bridging the gap. It only worked when Ironhide used the hardlight hologram – and he had started to use it quite often when they were alone. Kissing was not alien to Lennox, but kissing a humanoid representation of a mechanoid life form – and appearing male – was.

It didn’t stop the enthusiasm.

Ironhide had learned how to pleasure his human partner, as Will had accustomed to the differences between them. They couldn’t care less what this made them to anyone else.

The towel fell to the floor.

Ironhide felt his spark quiver as energy collected between them, mingled, meshed together, as they shared in so many different ways. Human, Cybertronian, and something new. He watched Will’s climax, felt his own peak, his system flooding with the release, and he shuddered against the pliable human form.

“Damn,” Will whispered harshly, eyes glowing blue. “If you get like this whenever I play around, we need to get private facilities.”

The holoform, now a featureless black thanks to the energy demands of his release, pulled Will into the cab of the Topkick as Ironhide chuckled.

“Private enough?” the mech teased.

Will grinned and leaned back as his partner straddled him. The windows darkened.

“Yeah, private enough,” he answered.

 

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A/N: for the nitpickers, I'm using the thirteen Primes mentioned in the novel to the second movie, not the reduced number in the actual movie. I only saw the movie two times in Iceland, now waiting for the DVD, so I know the book a lot better and fell back on what little information was given there. Since the movie isn't truly part of my 'verse, I'm only using what fits here, what I can mix with my AU characters. Don't expect the Fallen any time soon :P


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